Weakest Lynx (29 page)

“More like the early morning of a day filled with possibilities.” He smiled, reaching up to brush a piece of hair from my face, tucking the strands behind my ear. The touch felt … private, connected … intimate. Not sexual. More … possessive maybe?

I reached for casual banter. “Since I usually wake up sluggish and grumpy, I think you need to work on a different simile.”

“How about ‘raspberries?’” He flashed his infectious grin.

“Okay.” A smile tickled the corners of my lips. “I’ll take ‘raspberries.’”

Striker reached out again, this time I took a step back before he could touch me. “When you say ‘Chica,’ the way you say it, makes me feel pretty. Maybe even a little sexy. I’m not sure those are good feelings to have when I’m around you. It confuses for me.”

Striker’s eyes sparked with curiosity, then a flash as he realized he’d crossed a line. He readjusted to humorous sincerity. “So, I should stick to ‘raspberries?’” he teased.

“Sometimes you’re a jerk.” I pushed past him and headed down the stairs. He laughed as he followed behind me. I grinned despite myself.

The men gathered around the table. I only counted six. “Where’s Jack? Should we stick his plate in the oven to keep warm for him?” I asked.

The kitchen phone rang, and an Iniquus Hummer roared up the drive. Jack strode in with a thick manila envelope in his hands. He moved to hand it to Striker, but Striker shook his head and pointed to me. Jack stilled for a minute, confused, then handed the file over. I got up and put it on the buffet.

“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll read through it after dinner.”

I ate a quiet meal of Nana Kate’s delicious pot roast recipe, letting the men share their news and stories. My mind slid back to my apartment with all of the sticky notes on the wooden floor of my bedroom, running strings from one to the other, trying to get hold of the relationships hiding the secret to this puzzle. I remembered a web of deception. The case was a jumble of confusing players. Most were innocent; the roles they played stayed within the boundaries of the law. It wasn’t until … I jumped up, ran over to the file, and flipped through. Striker watched me, eyes sharp as obsidian.

“I remember now,” I said.

This got the men’s attention. What did I have to do with an Iniquus case? They stared at me, but no one asked the obvious questions. They put their heads down and made a show of eating, finishing their plates in silence.

Evidently, Striker hadn’t explained my secret to them yet. Now, I wished he
would
tell them about Spyder. I wanted the men to know I was one of them. We really did play on the same team—were part of the same pack. Cognitively, I understood they worked hard on my case—were out in the field night and day, following up on leads, but I wanted this to be personal for them. I wanted them fighting for one of their own. Would that change the outcome? Speed things up? Make them more effectual? Jeezus, I sounded manipulative. Ugly. I didn’t particularly like myself in that moment. Or many of the moments during this whole fiasco. I sighed loudly. All I could do on my end was keep proving myself worthy of their best efforts, and keep my head screwed on as tightly as possible. Having Spyder’s case back in my lap would help with both of these goals. Maybe. Hopefully.

Jack and Gater took off on assignment while Randy and Blaze did KP. Deep tapped on his laptop over on the sofa, and Striker and I sat side by side at the table.

“Let me try to reconstruct the web for you, so you can follow. Back in my apartment, I did this with Post-it notes and string. That’s the only way I could keep track of all the players.”

Striker produced a pen, a pad of sticky notes; and, after looking through the garage, he found a ball of twine. As he handed them to me, Striker’s phone vibrated.

He focused tightly on what the other person said. “You have a lead on both? Or just … No … Where? … Right, we’ll wait for the call.”

Deep had moved over to stand next to Striker, hands on his hips, looking intent. “Lynda and Cammy?” he asked under his breath.

Striker gave an almost imperceptible nod and glanced at his watch. “Bonz thinks he had eyes on her, we’ll rally with him at twenty-hundred.” Striker’s voice mirrored Deep’s guarded tone.

“Things are ratcheting up,” he said. “Lots of chatter between the players. Something’s gone wrong, and Lynda’s got herself caught in the middle, dragging Cammy in. Again.”

Striker shot a glance at me, but I was well practiced in the art of watching from behind veiled eyes. His expression was a mixture of exasperation, anger, and fear. There and gone. A brief moment when his stoicism wavered. Whatever crime he was working on had a personal connection to him. Very personal.

“We’ll find them.” Deep said.

I hoped they’d confide in me, bring me data to puzzle. I wanted to help find Lynda and Cammy, too. We were teammates after all, even if Striker was just starting to realize this.

I busied myself flipping through the file, filling out each piece of paper, arranging them on the table, rearranging them on the table, moving the string around, working slowly through the process of trying to remember how this had all fit together. At some point, Striker interrupted to let me know Deep, Randy, and he had to leave for a couple of hours. Blaze would be my watchdog. I nodded my understanding without looking up. For me, working a puzzle was like meditation. I had no concept of time floating by.

I startled when the garage door crashed open. No warning call. Blaze leaped forward. Gun aimed. His body shielding mine. Unarmed, I squatted. My eyes went wide in my head as if with more light, I could better grasp the moment. I peered around Blaze’s leg and forced my mind to focus and understand. Jack—and behind him, Gater. Ripped clothes. Blood. Gater glowed ghostly white beneath his tan. He gripped his chest and leaned into the wall. Jack held a hand out toward Blaze, as if to ward off the bullet that could fly his way. He swayed and went down on a knee.

Blaze was focused. Body taut. He thrust his gun into my hand, grabbed Jack’s from his shoulder holster, and raced out, slamming the door shut behind him. I assumed he went to secure the perimeter.
He trusts me to protect the interior,
flashed through my mind. Trust!

Jack looked me straight in the eye. “Ambush,” he gasped. “Not Wilson, Lexi. It was
not
Wilson.”

Relief cascaded over me like cooling water. I switched gears immediately to EMT mode. I pushed the Glock into my back waistband for easy access. In case … As I rushed forward, my mind registered exposed road abrasions, and jagged raw skin.

Jack’s injuries were the most obvious. I laid him on the ground. I turned to Gater and used my hands to scan over his body, using Reiki energy to check his status. Obvious injuries weren’t always the most dangerous injuries. I needed to triage the two to know what to do next.

I lead Gater to a chair in the dining room, helped him cross his arms on the table, and laid his dazed, concussive head down. I was kneeling beside Jack when the door opened. My eyes flew up as I jerked the Glock into position and lined up the sight. Blaze had a phone to his ear, reporting to Striker. I stuck the gun back in my pants and turned my attention to Jack.

A scorch mark covered most of his arm. I brushed the air above the damaged skin. Justin’s barbeque burn was nothing compared to this, and I wasn’t sure I had the capacity to heal, or even soothe, something this severe. I mumbled a prayer for divine help under my breath.

As I brushed, the red and heat left the wound and soon became imperceivable. I tore open the ripped cloth of Jack’s camo pants, and brushed his thigh and calf. He must have come up against the exhaust on a motorcycle. Nothing else would leave this kind of wound.

Jack gritted his teeth and balled his fists. Stoic. Steely.

“Jack, I can help you,” I whispered in his ear. “I’ll need you to trust me, open up to me.” My hands rested lightly over his eyes; Reiki energy streamed from my palms. I had never experienced the energetic force coming through me this strongly before; it made me dizzy and nauseated. Jack murmured a thank you. My eyes sought out Blaze, who had a first aid kit beside him. He was cleaning the gash on Gater’s head.

“Blaze, I need you to cut open Gater’s shirt. Be careful not to pull. Gater’s ribs are broken on the right-hand side. Wrap the ribs in Ace bandages to give him some relief. Then clean and dress the gunshot wound on his upper arm using butterfly strips. The bullet didn’t penetrate, it only grazed him.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Blaze picked a pair of scissors from the box.

“Blaze, what’s your protocol for getting people to the hospital?”

“Ma’am, unless the situation is life or death, we can’t have EMS respond here to the house. We’ll have to transport them ourselves. I can’t leave you alone, and you can’t come with me. I alerted the team. They’re forty-five minutes away if all the lights and the traffic are with them, and they push the pedal down.”

An hour passed before the phone rang, and I heard a motor gunning up the drive. The door burst open; the team strode in. I had my healing hands on Gater by now. Both of the men had absorbed a ton of energy and were in trances, unaware that the others had arrived. Striker looked at me for a report. Blaze had explained what I was doing when they checked in over the phone.

As I removed my hands, Gater stirred and opened his eyes. I went to the kitchen and washed with soap and water. I took a minute to center myself and disconnect the energetic link before I spoke.

“Gater needs to go to the hospital. Broken ribs on the right. I tried not to touch them with the Reiki energy. The bones aren’t lined up properly. Likewise, I didn’t work on the gash on his arm.” I pointed over at him. “After they suture him, I can heal it. If I do anything now, the skin wouldn’t be as neat—it would leave a bigger scar.” I moved toward Jack, who pushed to sitting. “I think I got everything else. Jack sustained injuries mostly from a blow to the head and burns from the engine. He stretched the ligaments in his right knee and ankle. I can’t see any swelling or bruising now. You’ll want an orthopedist to look at him, anyway.”

Striker nodded, his face unreadable. “Can they walk?”

“Give them another minute to come out of their healing states. They need to drink water before they go.”

Striker glanced toward Blaze, who went to the kitchen and pulled glasses from the cupboard. I moved to the living room and sat on the rocking chair. My hands lay open in my lap. My head leaned back; my eyes closed. The energy continued to pour out of me. I couldn’t seem to shut down the voltage. Weird. This had never happened before. I buzzed like a beehive. It felt like my atomic particles had decompressed, leaving me with wide-open spaces, making me translucent and permeable.

Striker crouched at my feet. He reached out to touch me. When our palms met, my head snapped up. I sucked air, yanking my hands back as if burned. Striker’s eyes turned from concerned soft green to black as his pupils dilated. I sensed his body brace protectively against the energy. He lowered himself to kneeling. I never thought I’d see this man on his knees.

As he looked into my eyes, bands constricted my lungs. Impossible to take air in—I was suffocating. My heart pounded so fast and with such fury it seemed to work its way out of the protective cage of my ribs and up my throat to choke me. I couldn’t survive this.

I tried to jerk my gaze away from his to garner respite, but my eyes fixed on Striker with tunnel vision. Nothing else existed in this world but Striker here in front of me. A vein throbbed at his temple, keeping pace with my galloping pulse. We looked at each other for a long time. Finally, Striker pulled his gaze to the right and broke the spell. He pushed to standing and went to help his men into the Humvee, leaving without another word to me.

As soon as Striker moved through the door, the energy vanished. My heart reseated itself. My breath was freed, and I slumped, limp and exhausted. This had never happened when I used Reiki before. How confusing. How frightening.

Blaze walked over with a glass of water for me. He said nothing, which I appreciated. After a while, I got up to repair the twine web I had created on the table, putting it back to its original state—from before I laid Gater down across my papers and string—so I’d be ready to explain the case to Striker when he came back. Blaze watched me moving nervously around the room.

“Ma’am, you did a remarkable thing.” He sounded reverent.

I waved my hand in the air as if to erase the notion. “Those were simple techniques. Anyone can learn to do them. I studied with a hospice nurse who took care of my mom.” I paused. “I have to say, I’ve never tried it on anything this serious before. I was stunned.” My brows knit together as I scowled. “I can’t normally do that. I’m not sure how I did it tonight.”

Blaze nodded solemnly.

My hands went to my temples. “Blaze, my head is spinning. I think I need to go lie down and get some sleep.”

“I’ll walk you upstairs, so we don’t have another hospital run.”

Since Blaze was watching me, I went into my room to go to bed.

Striker climbed in next to me around three in the morning. I lay awake, with my lights on to keep the boogey man at bay, having failed miserably at falling asleep. I was anxious about Gater and Jack, and a more than a little weirded out over the whole event—especially the energetic side.

I rolled over to face him. “How are they?”

“Exactly as you said. Jack’s going to be fine. Gater got sixteen stitches in his arm and has four broken ribs. The doctors said the damnedest thing. They thought the ribs must have been broken weeks ago. They had already started to knit back together.”

“Shoot. I hoped that wouldn’t happen. Did they need to rebreak them in order to set them properly?” I grimaced.

“They got them in place by manipulating him.”

My brows shot up to my hairline. “God. I hope they had him sedated.”

“They knocked him out. Jack’s taking a day to rest tomorrow. He sends you a big thank-you. Made me stop and get you some flowers. The only place I found open was a twenty-four-hour grocery. I put them in a vase downstairs.” He pulled the cover up over my shoulder. “I hope you like magenta and purple because I didn’t have a choice. Gater will be on light duty for the next couple of weeks until he recovers.”